


Sometimes

by the_technicolor_whiscash



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Betrayal, Facial wounds, First Person, Gen, Guns, Gunshots, Violence, basically dont do anything Mike does, car theft, self-questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_technicolor_whiscash/pseuds/the_technicolor_whiscash
Summary: Michael Westen gets caught in an altercation with Larry, the biggest scumbag on the face of the earth.





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be written for a ship but honestly i liked how it ended up without any shipping

I’ve seen the world fall down around me too many times. A mission gone wrong, an ally dead, my name blacklisted. And each time, I dust myself off and start again. But some times are harder than others. Especially when my failure results in the pain of others. I've tried to become unattached, and largely succeeded. But as a human being, you end up craving intimacy. That's what drew me to Fi. And also to Sam. With them, I began to trust people more. I established more friendships, however fleeting. Most were beneficial in the long run. 

But some resulted in death, mayhem, and fearing the lives of not only myself but those closest to me. 

I wouldn't call Larry my friend. I wouldn't call him my ally either. But I also wouldn't call him an enemy. He was a real bastard, who seemed to think he and I were similar. And sure, we have similar skills. I won't deny that. But Larry is reckless. He lives only for himself and for money. And he’ll take out anyone who stands in his way. I've met warlords who are more likable than Larry. Warlords will usually listen to reason, within means. Larry… well, you get the point. 

Sometimes, Larry likes to pop by and asks me to help him on a job. Of course, I can't say no, unless I want a bullet in my skull. So I always accept, and in the process of helping him I try to thwart his plans. And most of the time it works. 

Sometimes it doesn't. And that's how I ended up laying on the ground, on top of a parking garage, bleeding out of my head. It's been a fun day. 

“This is what happens, Michael! What happens when you don't listen to me!” Larry yelled, standing over me and waving a pistol around. “You're an idiot, you know that?”

He’s yelling about the fact that I refused to leave a bomb in a hotel in order to kill the person he was after. 

“Larry, you know you were about to kill hundreds of people.”

“Oh, Saint Michael strikes again. Look me in the eye and tell me you're better than I am! Tell me you have less blood on your hands than I do.”

“I can't look you in the eye with my face pressed to the ground!”

“Always the comedian, you are. And look at where that got you.” 

I stayed silent. It was often better to let him work himself out than say anything. 

“Well, let me tell you something, Michael. You try to be the good guy. You work for others, you give it your best, and that is going to get you nowhere. You're going to find yourself dumped in the Everglades one day, bullets littering your back, as your eyes are being eaten out by raccoons. And no one’s going to be there to help you. No one’s going to say, I wonder what happened to that Michael Westen. Because that’s how the world works. No one cares about anyone other than themselves.” 

“You’re wrong. You’ve lost all faith in humanity, and it's turned you into something other than a person.”

“You just wait. Your friends are going to forget about you, and that's when you’re going to realize that I was right all along.”

I could feel the cold metal of Larry’s pistol pressing into the back of my skull. This opened up an opportunity to strike, but also allowed for the possibility of him quickly ending my life. “I almost feel bad for you, Larry.”

“Don't. I have everything I could ever want. Guns, money, power. I could do anything. I could buy the US Virgin Islands if I wanted to.” 

At that moment, I twisted around, grabbing Larry’s gun and forcing it to the side. He tried to shove me away, but I used the force of the blow to yank the gun away. I aimed the gun at Larry’s face, my finger on the trigger. 

“But you couldn't buy an island, because you'd have to give up your identity. And a dead man can't buy an island.” 

“What are you gonna do, shoot me? You don't have the balls-”

I cut him off by shooting him in the leg. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Westen, you son of a bitch. Of course you’d go for the non-fatal wound. You Boy Scout.” 

“I do what I have to, Larry. That's enough for most people.”

“Well, you're in for a rude awakening. Where were your friends, when I took you up to this parking lot? Do Sam and Fiona know where you are? Do they even care?”

“I don't know, you shot my phone.”

Suddenly, sirens appeared in the distance. Someone must've heard the gunshot, and called the police. Of course. 

Larry evidently noticed the sirens too, and began to back away towards the car he had arrived in. It was the car I had arrived in too. Which means I would be stranded here, unless I could hotwire one of the cars in the garage. 

“We will meet again, Michael. And next time, I will have the upper hand.”

“I’m sure you will. Did I nick an artery? You might want to get out of here before you bleed to death.” 

“See you in hell.”

“Right back at you.”

Larry jumped into his car and sped away, leaving me in the dust, still gripping his gun. It was a nice pistol, a two-tone .45 caliber model undoubtedly with the serial numbers filed off of it. Larry spared no expense when it came to weapons. 

I descended one level deeper into the parking garage, eyeing the few cars that were still there. I wanted something that was a popular model, something I could use to blend in. I decided on a grey coupe, which the owner had kindly left with the windows rolled down, so all I had to do was hotwire it. A few seconds later, and I was speeding away down the street, watching as the cops approached the garage. 

I left the car a few blocks away from the loft and walked the rest of the way back. There was still dried blood on my forehead, and a nasty scratch from being shoved face first into Larry’s trunk, but no one looked twice. People are often more focused on whatever business they have to attend to than a guy bleeding from his head walking down the street. Especially in Miami. 

I stumbled into the loft, and was immediately greeted by the presence of Sam and Fi. But they didn't seem too pleased with me. It was probably because I had disappeared without a word. That does tend to make people mad, even if they're your closest friends. 

“Where have you been?” Fi exclaimed. “We’ve been calling you all day! And what’s with that blood all over your face?”

“It’s mine. Larry decided he was unpleased with my decisions.”

Sam frowned the disapproving look that only he could give. “Well, you could have at least called. 

“I couldn't have. Larry shot my phone.” 

“Shot it?” Fi shook her head. “That man’s more trigger-happy than I am.”

“He’ll be nursing a gunshot wound in the leg for a while. His ego is almost bigger than his trigger finger.” 

“What else did he do to ya?” Sam said, eyeing the cut on my face. 

“Shoved me into his trunk. He knew the escape routes and closed them up. I had no choice but to see what he had in store for me.”

Sam reached into the fridge and held out a beer. “I’m glad you're back, at least. Want one?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Fi pulled out a tissue and gently dabbed at my wound. “I don't think you’ll need stitches, but it's going to look nasty for a while.” 

“Great.” I took a swig from the beer Sam handed to me. I definitely needed it after today. “I’m gonna wash up. Then we can talk about where we wanna go from here.” 

“I’m sorry, but I can't stay. I've got a meeting with some smugglers who I have to hide some guns for.” Fi said. “It's a simple deal. Shouldn't take more than a few hours.” 

I brushed a lock of hair out of her face. I knew it made her crazy when I did that. And, truth be told, I liked the brief moment of intimacy. “Alright. Stay safe.” 

She placed a kiss on my nose. “You know I will.” 

And with that, she was out the door, off on her own adventures. I sometimes wondered what exactly she did when she was doing one of these jobs. I knew it was far different, and occasionally more violent than the jobs we did together. Plus, more illegal. But her jobs varied greatly, and the black market firearm industry was never quiet. 

“Well, I’m still here.” Sam said. He was still standing behind the kitchen counter, leaning his elbows on it. His laid-back attitude was evident in his stance, but that didn't mean he wasn't wary. I could tell that he was armed, and always ready if a situation aroused. And that was why he was a good friend. He had never shaken off the effects of his Navy SEAL days. 

I finished off my beer and left the bottle in the sink. “I'm gonna shower. Tell me if anything happens.” 

“You know I will, Mikey.”

As I walked off towards the bathroom, Sam cleared his throat. “What is it, Sam?”

“I just wanted to say that I'm glad you're safe. Working with Larry is risky.”

“I know it is. Don't tell Fi this, but he told me he’d be back. This isn't going to be the last time Larry comes back from the dead.”

“Damnit. He say why?”

“Probably because he now has a vendetta against me for betraying him and shooting him in the leg.”

“Man. He is one serious rat bastard.” 

“You’re not kidding. I’m pretty sure the next time he sees me, he’s shooting me in the back.” 

“Guess we’ll just have to be one step ahead of him, huh?”

“That's the problem. You can't ever be one step ahead of him. He’s a cryptid, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in an offshore bank account. He pays for everything in cash, and kills anyone he works with.” 

“So the only way to truly be rid of him is to put him in jail for the rest of his life, or kill him.” 

“Exactly. And at this stage, I don't know how we can do either.” 

“I’ll start working on it. I'll try and track his known cover ID’s, see if any of em have any criminal record or anything. And I can contact Barry, see if he’s turned up anything on the guy.”

“Thanks, Sam.” 

I walked off towards the bathroom, secretly glad to have told him about Larry’s new agenda against me. Sometimes, it’s good to have at least one other person who knows what’s happening, so they can help you along. Especially when the issue at hand is a raging psychopath who wants your head on a plate. 

The hot water of the shower stung in my wound, a painful reminder of the day’s events. As I washed away the blood, sweat, and dirt which caked my body, I remembered what Larry had said to me. That my friends didn't care. That they would leave me in a heartbeat, and that I would find myself dead and forgotten and being eaten by raccoons. But Larry was bitter. And Larry had no idea that Sam and Fi were as loyal as German shepherds, and twice as fierce. Sure, they had their moments where they disagreed with me. But often, when that happened, it was a moment when I was in the wrong, and risking my life for a poor reason. 

So why did I feel some knot of doubt, deep within my stomach? I loved my friends, and they clearly valued me. But I was a trained operative. Trained not to get attached. Trained to believe that there was a chance anyone could turn their back on you, and eliminate you for the furthering of their own agenda. And though the human part of me told me that was crazy, that my friends would never do that to me, the operative part was telling me to watch my back. And it seemed to agree with Larry.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to make this longer originally but I couldn't really find a way to do it that I liked so that's how it ended up


End file.
